I got the invitationin my phone on a hot thursday afternoon. My best friend, Anna sent a slightly grainy photo of the beach house with white clapboard walls, deep wraparound porch, golden dunes spilling right up to the back steps followed by three short words: “Come this weekend. Please.”
I typed back yes before my thumb even finished scrolling the rest of her message.
My summer internship had ended the week before, my lease runs out in two weeks, and the idea of zero adult responsibilities felt like medicine.
Everyone in our friend group knew her family’s beach house was paradise. Her mom kept the fridge loaded with chilled rosé and fancy charcuterie boards.
Her dad usually showed up for a day or two, fired up the grill for steaks, then drove back to the city for work. I had only m
